


There Is A Man And He Is On Fire

by StarrBryte



Category: Episode Ignis - Fandom, Final Fantasy XV, Kingsglaive
Genre: Spoilers for Episode Ignis, Unrequited Love, character musings, no beta we die like men, spoilers for the end of ffxv in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 21:48:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13040115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarrBryte/pseuds/StarrBryte
Summary: There is a man and he is on fire.





	There Is A Man And He Is On Fire

There is a man and he is on fire.

There is a man and he is on fire. No... That's not right... That's no enough information, Noct, be more specific. You need to be more specific. It's been drilled into your head even before Mother- No... You need to be more specific. Paint a picture, Noct. Paint it clear. Clear as Prompto's photos when the lighting is just right and his smile says more than words ever could. Describe it clear, Noct. Describe it once, twice, a thousand times until you get it right.

There is a man and he is on fire. He has his back to you. You cannot see his face. He is of average height. Taller than you at any rate. Maybe... 6'0..? He is of average build. The muscles in his arms and neck say athletic. More athletic than you are currently... No... You can take care of yourself. You can. You've trained and worked through the pain in your knee, your hip, your back, your mind until even Gladio can grudgingly say you tried. Don't let this feeling of inadequacy tarnish something you worked so hard for. You can take care of yourself. Say it often enough, say it a hundred times a day and maybe, one day, you'll believe it. There are scars on his knuckles that say this man knows anger and frustration in equal measure. Gladio has similar scars. You have a sneaking suspicion you know the cause. The curve of his neck says that this man knows exhaustion and stress. There are days when Ignis' neck will curve the same way. You have a sneaking suspicion you know the cause. His head is slightly cocked to the side, as if listening for a voice, as if looking at life from a different angle. As if the world around him is always just that little bit tilted on it's axis and he is trying to find balance in an unbalanced world. There are times when Prompto's head will tilt that way, as if trying to find the perfect angle that will make everything make sense. You have no idea why he does this and to you it doesn't matter. Because you will break the world for him and put it back together again until he doesn't have to look like that anymore. Will you break the world for this man to? You are a Prince, Noct. One day you will be King. There are many things a King must know and one of them is this: The whole world need not break for you to find balance, just the piece of the world you can claim as your own. Remember this, Noct. For there are many things a King must know and another of these is this: The things that belong to you are only the things you can grasp in both hands. The rest will either follow or not be worth your pain and tears. You have already held lakes and and rivers and oceans worth in your heart and behind your eyes, yet each is precious and must only be shed for those of equal value. So very many are of equal value in your heart already. What's one more?

There is a man and he is on fire. He has his back to you. You cannot see his face. He has dark hair. Longish. Shaved at the sides, so you can see the tips of his ears, the line of his jaw and cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. Parts of his hair is pulled back into braids and plaited with stone and metal beads. They make no noise in the wind the fire generates. The fire that ate Queen Sylva had it's own wind too. You remember it, don't you Noct? Luna's footsteps in stumbling echo as your father drags her with him. Queen Sylva's crown of ice and syllablossoms tumbling from her bowed head. You were too young to know this but now you do- that only one thing would make an Oracle Queen bow her head and not even the God's beloved would turn away Death itself. You imagine her crown shattered as it hit the ground. You know you left someone behind. Someone precious. But your father only has two hands and Luna is the last living Oracle. The beloved of the Gods in exchange for the heir to Tenebrae's throne? There is no decision to be made. Not in your father's eyes. Not in your father's heart. Luna is the last living Oracle, the beloved of the Gods. In the end your father is expendable. Queen Sylva was expendable. Ravus is expendable. Luna is not. Not even an Empire so foolish and so far removed from grace would kill a treasure so precious. That was why she let go of your father's hand, Noct. No matter what you may hear or have heard your father loved Queen Sylva. She was a true friend. To keep the daughter who was her mirror image of youth safe? He would have squeezed her fingers until they broke to keep her with him. Never let Ravus' grief and anger and sadness cloud this truth. Never let his blame tarnish the memory of your father's tears nor the garden he built in her name. If he could have he would have taken both of Queen Sylva's children and raised them as his own. If Ravus had not been crippled by shock, if Luna had not been so well loved by the Astrals. But Luna has always known where her value lies and where she would be most physically and politically safe. The beloved of the Gods in exchange for your life? Her freedom for yours? There is no decision to be made. Not in her eyes. Not in her heart. In a gilded cage of her own making her dreams make her free and there is no sorrow or regret for her decision. She watched the dark shape of your father's back disappear into the trees and only let go of her breath when she knew you were safe. Your father gripped you so tightly you had bruises from his fingers for days after. Luna assures you that Ravus is fine. Ravus is always fine. The very fact that your only line of communication is through divine interference and that the Crownsguard has gotten word that Ravus is swiftly climbing the ranks of the Imperial military and spews hatred from the festering wounds his mother's death left behind says that Ravus may not be fine. That Ravus may never be fine. This man reminds you of that day because this man stands as if he is rooted to the spot. As if he is standing before something too terrible to behold and the only reason you are not taking the brunt of that terrible thing is because this man is standing so firmly in the way. You are reminded of Queen Sylva who stood between her child, her expendable eldest son and heir, and fire. You are reminded of your mother, who threw her body over yours as the car went flying off the road. You are reminded of Gladio, who will stand between you and harm until the day he dies and even then, you sometimes fear, he will continue standing, too stubborn and loyal to let his body fall.

There is a man and he is on fire. He has his back to you. You cannot see his face. And it's not so much that he is on fire that concerns you. With the proper spell and item you could be entirely engulfed in flame and suffer nothing more serious than soot stains. It's where the fire is coming from. While it feels as if fire should be consuming the world and yourself with it the fire is only coming from this one man. As if he is the source of the flame. As if the fire is coming from his skin both producing and being consumed by it. But that doesn't feel right either. It feels unnatural. The fire feels like both blessing and punishment, as if this man swallowed flame itself and is now fuel for it. You are reminded of the old stories, Noct. The ones about the Infernian and why he hates the world. Those stories are wrong, Noct. He doesn't hate the world, he never did. Far, far from it. All glory and honor to those who sacrifice for love. All glory and praise to those who survive a broken heart. If you could see the heart of this man, Noct, you would see a heart cracked in three places and held together with string and glue and an emotion that feels more like despair than hope. A paradox that would laugh in the face of the Gods themselves and while he would fall to his knees in agony he would never bow his head to those who did not earn his loyalty and respect. Queen Sylva's head bowed only once in her entire life and this man reminds you of her. Only one type of person bows to no being save those most deserving. All glory and honor to those who defy the Gods. All glory and praise to those who defy fate. 

There is a man and he is on fire. His back is turned to you. You cannot see his face. He has dark hair. He wears dark clothes. They are torn and covered in burns and soot stains and blood. One sleeve of his coat has been torn off entirely. The other sleeve has a silver and purple bandana tied around the bicep. His hood sports a pair of crooked horns, one of them snapped off almost at the base. His shoulder guards have tattered purple ribbons coming off of them, their ends just beginning to smolder. He wears sturdy boots. Those boots would probably survive Ragnarok. He stands as if he is rooted to the spot. As if he is a statue. As if he cannot move or will not move. As if moving will start a terrible thing. As if him standing there is preventing a terrible thing. You feel as if this man will stand in that same spot until the end of time, too stubborn and loyal to let his body fall.

There is a man and he is on fire. His back is turned to you. You cannot see his face. He reminds you of your father. He is nothing like you father. He reminds you of Gladio. He is nothing like Gladio. But there is a solidity to his stance that says safety and protection and danger. His back a protective wall against whatever lies beyond his scorched black coat and metal tipped braids. 

There is a man and he is on fire. His back is turned to you. You cannot see his face. His scorched black coat flaps in the hot breeze and you realize that there is an emblem of silver on the back. Intricate. The hood of the coat has a silver mask attached to it and dark crooked horns, one almost snapped off at the base and you realize you know those coats. Furtive. Shadowy. You have never met those coats. You have never seen them close up. Missions are always planned by Father but he does not speak to them. Does not summon them. Father tells Clarus and his Clarus messages the captain and the captain orders his men. But you know who they are. 

There is a man and he is on fire. His back is turned to you. You cannot see his face. But you know who he is. What he is. Dog. Pawn. Tamed Sabretusk barely held in check on a leash of human life and royal blood. Sucking leech on the King's power. Parasite on Lucien economy. Refugees. Orphans. Refugees and orphans given too much power. You have heard it when no one thought you could hear them. The way you have been taught. Nobility ignored the servants and servants pretended they were deaf and blind to whatever amount of weird the nobility did in front of them. There was nothing more dangerous to the nobility than a servant with a loose tongue and there was nothing more valuable to the nobility than a servant with a loose tongue. The servants who heard from the guard who heard it from the people. Gossip was drunken information and one had to decipher what they could. To Father those dogs and pawns and refugees and orphans are as precious as the swords and sabers and pikes and glaives that dance and sparkle at his command and make deadly walls of thorns and glass between the precious and the dead.

There is a man and he is on fire. His back is turned to you. You cannot see his face. You don't have to see his face to know that he is as precious to you as the swords and sabers and pikes and glaives that dance and sparkle at your command and make deadly walls of thorns and glass between the precious and the dead. You used to watch them, didn't you Noct? You used to escape your guards and sneak to where the Kingsglaive trained and watched them flicker and dance and nothing was more beautiful to you than knowing that one day you would flicker and dance too. Dangerous adopted siblings who you would never meet, and they would never know how much you love them. You will be tucked safe away, whispering orders to Gladio who will murmur to the captain who will order them to dance and sparkle on your command. And you will love them as dearly as your father does because they will suckle power from you and become the precious glaives that make deadly walls of thorns and glass that stand between the precious and the dead.

There is a man and he is on fire. His back is turned to you. You cannot see his face. His hands are clenched in loose fists that could relax and reach out in kindness or curl into fists of cruelty. One sleeve of his coat is missing. The skin of that arm is blistered crystal gray and red and cracked and fire bleeds from those cracks like lava through the open wounds of Ravatough's ravaged heart. The cracks crawl gray and ashy up his arm and make lightning forks across the side of his head. It's familiar, so terribly familiar. You know what this is, why he burns like this. You know it as you know the faint marks on your father's hand, the ones the lead up his arm and neck and make delicate silvery traces one his face. You know why he burns. His skin is peeling away into ashes and those ashes float so gently on the wind and touch your face. Part of you wants to cover your face in disgust because pieces of what is a person are touching you. It's a small part, Noct. You want to reach out to him. Open your hands and collect every tiny piece, keeping them close and secret like a treasure. Open your mouth and let those ashes light upon your tongue as if you would take the power he has borrowed back. You want to feel the burning warmth of him, to let the fire that consumes him consume you as well. You want to call him to your side because you know in your heart that he is yours. Your precious, precious Glaive that would dance and sparkle at your command and make a deadly wall of thorns and glass between the precious and the dead. You ache to know if this man would bow his head to you. What would you do, Noct, to gain this man's loyalty? His respect? His love?

There is a man and he is on fire. His back is turned to you. You cannot see his face. You want him to turn to you. To look at you. To obey you. To dance and sparkle at your command. You want to take the power he has taken back. You want to do this because he is precious to you and the power he has taken is burning him up. He took so much power that he is burning inside from it and will turn to ash as he holds it. You want to know what will happen if he lets all that power go. 

There is a man and he is on fire. His back is turned to you. You cannot see his face. You want him to turn to you. To look at you. You want to know his name. You want to hold out your hand to him and have him take it. You want him to stand before you forever, a wall of thorns and glass that stands between the precious and the dead. You have never wanted anything so badly in that moment. It's a selfish wish. Because you are a selfish person. But you know your worth. It will never stop you from wanting. 

Here is what you know in this moment.

There is a man and he is on fire. His back is turned to you. You cannot see his face. The heat from the flames that engulf him are warm and terrible and you love and hate in equal measure. You know you will spend the rest of your days dreaming small terrible dreams of that man and those will be small terrible dreams well dreamt. You will go to Luna and wed her and make her your Queen and the Kingsglaive will be yours. Precious weapons that will never rust, never dull, only die beautiful explosive deaths, for Glaives never die quietly, in nameless fields of battle, whispering your name into the dust and you will be happy to give up every ounce of power to them. Because they will never be able to live without you.

There is a man and he is on fire. One day that fire will be yours Noct. One day he will stand before you and your eyes will trace the familiarity of his back as he stands like a wall of thorns and glass between the precious and the dead. This is a thing you wish so selfishly and so painfully in this very moment it drowns out all other wishes. Your kingdom at peace. Your father's approval. Unconditional love. This is a king's wish, selfish and cruel. To have every aspect of this life in your hands, to have full control over it, to smother the fire of this life in your hands and build it up again as you see fit. Because you know that this life is yours.

Here are the things that you know in this moment and will never know again until you meet in the Beyond.

You will tell Luna of your dreams and will not stop dreaming them even after she tells you gently that there was a man and he was on fire, burned from the inside out, because while his heart was as brave and true as any king's, he was of common blood and the power of the King would not have him. You will whisper these dreams to Ignis as he lies in bed with cold rags over his burning, unseeing eyes and will not stop dreaming them even after he tells you, in a painful rasp, that there was a man and he was on fire, burned from the inside out, because while his loyalty was unquestioned and his bravery unmatched, he was of common blood and deemed unworthy of grace. Luna will say he did not so much steal that power as coerce it with mocking laughter and threatening charm, holding out like a bribe that which the Kings of Old truly wanted. He lay at their feet in agony but never once bowed his head. Ignis will hold your hand in a crushing grip and tell you he burned to ashes smiling and defiant and calling your name. Luna will tell you that he claimed you as his king. Ignis will whisper in your ear like a secret that his eyes were sharp and his kukris swift. A part of your heart will break and the small selfish flame inside of you will angrily declare it not so. Because his life belongs to you and you did not give him permission to leave this world. Not only because his life is yours but because you realize in that moment that a piece of Luna's heart burned away with him. And it is not envy that will make you angry, because the only freedom an Oracle has is who she chooses to love, and you have been blessed from the moment you met to be one of those people whose name she holds secret in her heart. You don't mind sharing that space. Luna is far more deserving of unconditional love than you are and you will spend the rest of your life trying and failing to prove it. You are angry because his name is held secret in her heart and he will never know how blessed he was for the honor of her attention.

There is a man and he is on fire. His back is turned to you. You cannot see his face. This beautiful and terrible dream will be one of your few comforts in the echoing emptiness and long aching years, trapped within your birthright. When you find the kukris lying ten years abandoned in the dust of your city you will feel a hot spark of victory in your heart, reclaiming something that had always been yours, all you had to do was take it. And those kukris with well worn handles from fingers that wielded them so lovingly will dance in your hands and no one else. If you could not claim his life you will claim the thing that was as much a part of him as his gently cruel hands and sharp seeing eyes and ever-blazing heart. You will know how he sparkled and danced by the way those blades sparkle and dance in your hands. How sharp they stayed through the long aching years, how they shine. The dust that clings to them will hold more microscopic particles of him than you will ever know and to have that dust cling to the cracks in your skin will burn and you will know joy in it. There are few things in life you can truly claim as your own, Noct. This is one of them.

I show you these things, Noct, these small terrible dreams and know that you will not remember them fully. These are not things you need to know or have knowledge of even though they are yours by right. Luna took these memories by force of will and made them hers because the only freedom an Oracle knows is who she chooses to love. Her heart is always hungry and any piece she can keep with her she will greedily take with no hesitation. Ignis took what he was given, ever greedy for information and nearly drowning in it, using it and wielding it and he will never tell you, Noct, never in a million years, but his screams were an echo and his determination bolstered by the one who came before. All glory and honor to those who risk their lives for love. All glory and praise to those who sacrifice to keep their loved ones safe. An ever burning wall of thorns and glass between the precious and the dead. 

You will not remember these secrets now, Noct, you have no need of this information now. There is only one thing you need know, only one thing to claim as yours and know in your heart as never breaking fact. When this world inevitably falls to ruin and all hope seems lost, know the truth of this dream and know that he burned for you with your name on his lips and her name held secret in his heart. He would have bowed his head for you. 

This is all you need know and when you wake I pray the knowledge will keep you warm through what is to come.

I paint you this dream and vow that none will take it from you.

There is a man and he is on fire. Burning from the inside out for taking that which does not belong to him to protect a future he would never see for a king he would never meet. 

There is a man and he is on fire. If you had your way, Noct, this man would burn forever, just for you, a blazing wall of thorns and glass, forever standing between the precious and the dead.

There is a man and he is on fire. He burned as bright and as hot as Meteor as it fell to earth, and as the ashes of his life join the ashes of your city, Luna will stumble though the city gates, Ignis' coffee mug will shatter on the lobby floor to stain the headlines printed black and garish across the newspaper, and you, Noct, will open your eyes.

All glory and honor to those true of heart. All glory and praise to they who die in the name of the future. Hail the victorious dead.

There is a man and he is on fire.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this not long after I saw Kingsglaive. It was just something to help me process Nyx Ulric and the ring and everything. I kept adding to it as I played FFXV and then yesterday I completed Episode Ignis. This is pretty much as complete as I can make it. I place this dream is happening the morning Insomnia falls, so Noct is pretty much dreaming this in real time as Nyx sits on a pile of rubble and quietly dissipates into the ether. Considering the weird reality and time jumping this universe does I can also see Noct being given confusing messages and warnings about the future and he does dream about the Omen Trailer. In Episode Ignis, once Ignis puts the ring on he says "I may not be of royal blood but if a glaive can do it so can I". While we were not told specifically that Ignis knew about Nyx, considering the info dump Pryna lay on him I can see where he would have gotten such information. I just wish we could have gotten an actual glimpse of it. Just an image of Nyx putting on the ring or something. But I'm happy with what I've got and I'm happy I was able to get a bit of Ignis in here. I put the Ignoct tag in here because while I don't outright ship it I do recognize the amount of love these two have for each other and a bond like there's is hard to ignore. Unrequited love because no one gets together. Which is horribly sad. I'm not sure how this evolved from Noct parsing out fate and sacrifice to actually wanting Nyx but I think that's how it goes when one even catches a glimpse of that man. Everybody wants Nyx Ulric's ass.


End file.
